


The Silent Stars Go By

by Annissa



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 01:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13089768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annissa/pseuds/Annissa
Summary: Christmas fluff in which old traditions are outgrown, new traditions are created, and that which is written in the stars is already painfully obvious.





	The Silent Stars Go By

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Lannie_Queen_of_Goblins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Lannie_Queen_of_Goblins/gifts).



> Merry Christmas from your Secret Santa.

“What are you looking at?” Toby asks, trying to follow her gaze into the forest. 

Sarah looks over at Toby, fourteen years old and already taller than her. “Nothing. Just thought I saw something is all.” It’s the truth. Pretty much. She fights the urge to look back into the tangle of trees, knowing she won’t see anything there. 

Toby shrugs and turns his attention back to the group of girls huddled together against the cold waiting to take their turn on the tubing hill. He’d refused to sled with Sarah, all but saying he’d outgrown it, so now they both stand in the snow, people-watching instead, neither of them really enjoying themselves.

Sarah hides a wistful smile, and then offers, “Why don’t you go join them? There’s room for another person on the next run.”

He looks surprised at her offer and begins to refuse. 

“Toby,” Sarah says more firmly, “Go ask to join them.” 

Sarah’s no dummy. She can see the way one of them keeps glancing over, smiling shyly when she notices Toby looking back. 

“You sure?” Toby asks.

“Go on!” Sarah urges, keeping her voice low so the girl can’t hear her encourage her brother to introduce himself.

Toby gives her a half smile, then walks slowly over to the girls. The blonde one, the one with the shy smile, turns slightly away from her friends as he approaches, opening their circle, and he is quickly accepted by the group. 

Sarah thinks she sees a flutter of a cloak from the corner of her eye, but when she turns, there is no one there. When she looks back at the kids, they’re clambering onto the inner tube, Toby next to the blonde girl. 

She watches them as they push off the top of the hill, shouting and laughing as they gather speed and even catch a little air on one of the moguls. One of the girls is thrown off near the bottom of the hill, and she laughs as she picks herself up and brushes the snow off her jeans. The inner tube slows to a stop and Sarah watches as Toby stands and offers his hand to the girl. Together, they roll the tube back to the top of the hill for the next group.

Sarah smiles to herself, wondering if an attraction to blondes is encoded in the Williams DNA, and heads back to the warming hut while Toby gets acquainted with his new friend. 

The wood-burning stove is going strong when she enters the hut, and the water in the kettle she’d brought bubbles away on top of it. Her styrofoam cups and packets of Swiss Miss still sit on the bench, her offering to anyone who shares the hut with them that day. The sledding hills are well-known and people come from all over the region to play. On a regular day, it’s common for three or four families to share a hut, but Christmas Eve is usually quiet and, this year, she and Toby have one all to themselves. 

A shadow passes by the window, but is gone before Sarah looks up.

She fixes herself a cup of cocoa, then opens the door to the stove, the fire her only entertainment while she waits for Toby.

He returns sooner than she anticipated, and she looks up, surprised, when he enters.

“She had to go,” he explains, simply.

“Do you want some cocoa?” Sarah asks.

Toby looks at the packets, then at the fire, his expression slightly guilty. “Uh… no.” His answer is hesitant. “But thank you. I think I’m ready to go home, if that’s ok.”

“Sure. Ok.” Sarah stands and begins to collect her things, packing them into her bag, then pouring the hot water out behind the hut. 

They walk back to the car in silence. 

When Sarah pulls the car onto the highway back to town, she makes an attempt at conversation. “So… that girl was pretty.”

“Sarah,” Toby says. A warning.

“Just saying,” Sarah replies with a smile. “Did you get her number?”

Toby grunts and rolls his eyes before slouching even further into his seat. 

“I suppose the traditional visit to see Santa is out of the question?”

His only response is a blank stare.

Sarah suppresses a laugh. He’d stopped wanting to see Santa four years earlier. But a tradition was a tradition, and Sarah wasn’t quite ready to give up on hers. Ten years of sledding and hot cocoa followed by a trip to the mall to see Santa was a hard habit to break. Well, hard for her. For Toby, it wasn’t difficult at all. Sarah remembers being fourteen vividly enough that she doesn’t hold a grudge.

Her father and Karen are standing in the open doorway listening to a small group of carolers when Sarah pulls into the driveway. The instant the car stops, Toby reaches for the handle to let himself out.

“Hey, Toby?” she says, making him pause and look back at her. “Thanks for coming with me today.”

He smiles back at her, that guilt back in his eyes. “Yeah, thanks Sarah. Only…” 

_Here it comes_ , she thinks.

“Next year, maybe we could do something different?”

She nods, trying to keep her expression happy, or at least neutral. “Yeah, sure Tobes. Let’s make plans, ok?”

He gives her another smile, this one guilt-free. “Thanks again, Sarah. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye Toby.”

He climbs out of her car and slams the door shut, skirting the carolers without a glance, and squeezing through the front door between his parents. 

Sarah idles in the driveway listening to the carolers finish their song, a needlessly complicated a capella rendition of “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” As she listens, something large and white glides to the tree behind the house, and though it moves too quickly for Sarah to get a good look, she’s fairly certain she knows what it is. As the carolers leave the porch, Sarah waves at her parents, then pulls out of the driveway and heads home.

She’s still thinking about Toby when she arrives at her apartment. She removes her coat, toes off her boots, and tosses her keys into a bowl on her table before flopping onto her couch. Sighing, she takes a look around her home and wonders if she should have put up a Christmas tree. She’d been so busy that she didn’t think she’d miss it, and since she was spending Christmas Day at her parents’ house, a tree didn’t seem necessary. But now, on Christmas Eve, she’d really love nothing more than to stare at a tree decorated with lights and baubles. 

Thoughts of trees and decorations flee her mind when two gloved hands begin to massage her shoulders. She closes her eyes and leans into the massage, a slight smile on her face.

“I think you should know that you’re not as stealthy as you think you are,” she says.

“I don’t even get a hello before the insults begin?”

“Hello,” she says, grinning, and he leans down to kiss her.

“Did you enjoy your day?” he asks.

“Not really, but I think you already knew that.”

“I would have been happy to join you-”

“I know,” Sarah interrupts. “I’m just… not quite ready for that yet.” Sarah suppresses a twinge of anxiety at the thought of her family seeing her with Jareth, of having to explain not just who he is, but who he is _to her_. She sees something in his eyes shutter, and she knows she has the same guilty look on her face that Toby wore earlier.

“I’m sorry, Jareth,” she says. “I guess I’m a little out of it. I think this is the last year Toby and I will do our annual Christmas Eve stuff.” She tries to shrug it off. “It was bound to happen eventually, but...” She lets the thought hang unfinished in the air.

“But the loss saddens you,” he finishes for her.

“Yeah.”

“Come,” he says, offering her a hand up from the couch.

“Where are we going?” she asks, placing her hand in his and pulling herself up from the couch. She hasn’t finished the question before she’s standing ankle-deep in fresh powder, the snow melting into her socks. 

“Jareth!” she shouts, throwing herself into his arms as protection from the cold. She can feel his chuckle as he wraps his cloak around her, enveloping her in his warmth. She looks up at him, her teeth chattering, “I wasn’t ready!”

“No?” he asks. “Are you sure?”

Puzzled, she takes stock and realizes she’s no longer cold. Even her feet are warm and dry. She pushes away from him and looks down at herself to find she is dressed in immaculate, white snow gear that fits as if it was tailor-made for her. The thin jacket skims her body, tapering at her waist, then flaring from her lower back and hips to drape down her thighs. Water-resistant trousers tuck into high, shearling-lined boots, and white leather gloves keep her fingers surprisingly warm. She can feel a knit hat covering her head and can only assume that it, too, is white.

“Ok, that’s pretty good,” she says, giving him a reluctant smile.

“I have a question.”

“Yeah?”

“You enjoy sledding. But when Toby joined his peers, you chose not to ride at all.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Mm. My question is: why not?”

“These trips were always meant for the both of us. If he doesn’t want to sled with me, I guess I don’t see the point.”

“Again, why not?”

Sarah sighs. “It feels different when you’re on the hills with someone. When I’m alone… I dunno... It’s like I’m too old for it.”

Jareth nods. “And now Toby is, too.”

“Not quite,” she says with a sideways glance. “He’s just too old to sled _with me_.” 

“Ah,” Jareth says, understanding.

“Not that I’m complaining, because it’s gorgeous out here-” She gestures at the woods that surround them, the low winter sun casting long shadows on the ground. “-but did you really bring me here to have a conversation about Toby?”

“Not exactly,” he responds, then takes her hands and walks with her through the snow and deeper into the woods. Or, rather, _out_ of the woods, she realizes, when they come to a road. Waiting for them is an open sleigh led by an old-style Morgan, his smoky black hair standing in contrast to the sparkling white snow surrounding them. 

“It’s not sledding, but I thought you might enjoy a different kind of sliding.”

Sarah gasps and fawns over the horse, gently petting his nose until Jareth helps her into the sleigh and she settles in the seat. He draws a blanket up over their laps, takes up the reigns, and urges the horse into a trot, the bells on his harness jingling merrily. Sarah sits back and leans into Jareth, enjoying the sight of the last of the sun’s rays reflecting off the snow-covered trees.

She’s not sure when she sees the first spark of light. One moment, there’s nothing, then, as the light fades, there are hundreds of faint orbs glowing in the growing darkness. It’s almost like watching the stars come out. Soon, thousands, possibly millions, light up the trees as the sleigh travels through the woods. She sits up straighter, as if it will allow her a better view.

“How did you…?” she begins to ask and then she sees the faint smile on his face. “Fairy lights,” she says. “Of course.” 

His smile grows wider as they continue down the lane.

It’s breathtaking, better than any Christmas display she’d seen driving down her neighborhood streets as a kid. The lights go so deep into the forest, she can’t see where they end. She sits back again, hooking her arm around his. He looks down at her and she smiles back at him, holding his gaze.

He leans down then, almost as if he can’t help himself, and kisses her. The setting is too romantic to let him give her a peck on the lips, so she doesn’t let him go, nibbling on his lip before he can pull away. She can feel him smile against her before he runs his tongue against her bottom lip. 

She’s not yet ready to let him go before she feels a tickle just inside her nose. She pulls away suddenly, her expression somewhere between confused and horrified.

“What…?” he begins to ask, but she holds up a finger, a request for him to wait. Then she turns away from him and sneezes. Hard.

Silence, but for the sound of bells and hooves.

“Tissue?” she asks without lowering her hands from her face or turning around.

A white linen handkerchief appears over her shoulder. She takes it gratefully, and cleans herself up. She’s still holding it to her face when she finally looks back at him. She sniffs and wipes at her nose a couple more times before balling the handkerchief into her hand. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll keep this a little while longer,” she says sheepishly.

“Consider it yours,” he says, amusement apparent in his voice. “We’re nearing the Goblin City; I think it’s time we went inside.”

Sarah snuggles into the blanket and gazes at the landscape, enjoying the view and the company, listening to the sound of the bells, the horse’s hooves, and the sleigh runners cutting through the snow as night takes over the world. She stares out into the distance, the border between land and sky marked only by the shift from warm fairy lights to cool starlight. 

“And you said you move the stars for no one,” she says, quietly, smugly.

He hums a question, clearly distracted. 

“Well, you did, didn’t you?” she asks. “Just look.” She makes a gesture encompassing everything around them. She feels as if he has brought the stars to earth just for her.

He looks hard into the forest and narrows his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“We should have been at the castle by now,” he answers.

Sarah looks around at the festively lit trees, but can see no sign of a city anywhere nearby.

“Jareth,” she starts, “Are you trying to tell me that we’re lost?”

He stares ahead and does not answer. 

Her eyes go wide and a grin forms on her face. “We are, aren’t we? We’re lost in your own kingdom!” She laughs, not hard, but enough that Jareth’s expression hardens. Still, it’s difficult to worry when your companion is a magical king with the ability to transport himself wherever he wants. The only thing he has to fear is the blow to his ego.

He pulls the sleigh to a stop and steps out. Sarah wonders how he manages to move so gracefully when she’d likely just stumble her way to the ground below. As he approaches the trees, the lights scatter, leaving the tree bare of any light at all. She watches, rapt, as he stiffens. When he turns back to her, there’s annoyance in his eyes, but more than that, there’s embarrassment.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Will o’ the wisps,” he answers.

Sarah bites her lip, understanding Jareth’s embarrassment. It was a rookie mistake. The little wisps, posing as fairy lights, must’ve led the horse down the wrong road while Jareth and Sarah were distracted.

She pushes the blanket off her lap and stands when he offers her a hand down from the sleigh. “At least they’re pretty,” she says cheerfully. 

Much as she suspected, she nearly falls off the lone step as she steps out of the carriage. She blushes when he catches her, noticing that the rare look of embarrassment on his face has been replaced with much more normal amused arrogance. 

“Don’t look so smug,” she says. “That was part of my master plan.”

“Oh?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Sure. I’m always on the lookout for an excuse to feel you up.” She runs her hands over his chest. “Mission accomplished.”

His hands move to her bottom, giving her a squeeze. “Your plan has my full support.”

“As does my ass, apparently.”

Laughing, he waves his hand and the horse and sleigh disappear, off to the stables, wherever they are. He then swings his cloak around her, and before it has time to fall back to his side, they are in the warm castle.

“Let’s get something to warm you up,” he says, his mood already improved, as they walk together toward the castle kitchens. The rattling and banging of pots and pans grows louder the closer they get, prompting Jareth to walk faster until Sarah is almost running to keep up with him. He bursts into the kitchen to find a chaotic mess of cooking vessels, utensils, and food. 

“Who is responsible for this?” he shouts and the kitchen becomes suddenly silent. The silence lasts only two seconds or so before the kitchen once more erupts into bedlam. Goblins run, shouting, in every direction, tripping over pots and ladles as they go. They clear the room before Jareth has a chance to grab one, leaving their king and Sarah alone in the wreckage.

He kicks the detritus of his kitchen out of his way as he crosses the room and begins looking through cupboards. Most hang open, the remains of bags and boxes of dry goods scattered on each shelf and across the countertops and floors below. Finally, he stoops down and lifts a torn bit of brown paper from the floor. There’s a label, but it’s in a language Sarah cannot identify, let alone read. He looks regretfully at the paper before letting it fall once more to the ground. 

“That was the world’s finest chocolate,” he says, still looking at the fallen chocolate wrapper. “Little beasts likely ate it first.”

“For hot chocolate?” Sarah asks.

“That was its intended purpose,” he confirms.

A hint of a smile forms on her face as she begins to understand what he’s doing. Or at least attempting to do. He’s recreating her day, trying to ensure she enjoys it this time. First a magical sleigh ride and then hot chocolate by the fire. His subjects seem intent on destroying his plans, though, and she understands his frustration. “That’s ok,” she says. “It’s the thought that counts, and I appreciate the effort.”

He looks around the room and spies a cupboard that doesn’t have its door hanging off its hinges. He opens it and Sarah can see the contents are still orderly. Jareth roots around inside and pulls out an unmarked tin. He gathers a few more supplies that the goblins spared—mugs, spoons, a jar of honey, and some cream from the icebox—and sets them onto a tray. 

“Come,” he says, lifting the tray and leaving out the door through which they entered the room. 

The corridors are silent but for the sound of their own footsteps. 

“Where is everyone?” Sarah asks.

“I’ve banished them from this wing of the castle until further notice.” She thinks she hears him mutter something about needing to banish them from the castle entirely.

Sarah half-grimaces, understanding Jareth’s annoyance, but feeling slightly sorry for the little goblins anyway. They grow on a person, she thinks. Like a fungus.

They enter the throne room, and though Jareth doesn’t slow his pace as he crosses the room, Sarah stops to goggle. She’s never seen it so clean! He has also decorated, the room absolutely covered with garlands of pine and boughs of holly, all glowing with warm white lights. She grins to herself when she remembers the wisps, but she doubts these lights have any kind of sentience, not when Jareth is so adamant that they be alone. A fire blazes in the enormous fireplace, large enough to heat the entire room. She begins to feel hot in her snow attire, and takes off her hat.

He sets the tray down on the floor near the circular pit by the throne. She comes closer to see that he’s created a sort of nest in the depression by filling it with cushions and thick blankets.

“What’s all this?” she asks.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, gesturing to the nest.

She bends down to remove her boots, but finds herself already in her stocking feet. Taking a closer look, she realizes he’s removed her winter gear and she’s wearing her favorite fuzzy puppy pajamas. She runs her fingers over her shoulder. No bra. She’d say something, only he always seems to know exactly what she wants to wear.

She steps down into the nest, adjusting pillows so she can lean comfortably against the step, and watches him as he opens the unmarked tin and carefully spoons the contents into their mugs. With a wave of his hand, the mugs fill with steaming hot water. He then lifts the dipper out of the honey jar and allows a dollop to drip into each mug. 

“Wait for a moment,” he says.

The aroma reaches her then. A sweet, spicy scent that makes her feel warm and drowsy. Her mouth waters.

She watches the liquid in the mugs change color, moving from clear to a deep mahogany as one minute passes and then a second. Finally, Jareth pours a touch of cream into each mug, and then passes one of them to her.

She puts the mug under her nose and closes her eyes, inhaling the scent of the drink. When she opens her eyes, she can see Jareth looking back at her, his cup raised to his lips. He sips, holds the liquid in his mouth for a moment, then swallows. 

Finally, she sips at the drink. The spices bloom on her tongue, warm and complex, their heat tempered by the honey and cream. When she swallows, she can feel the warmth travel down her throat and spread out into her stomach, comforting and relaxing. 

“This is delicious,” she says enthusiastically. “What is it?”

“Shambhalan tea. Very rare. I’ve been looking for an excuse to drink it.” He takes a second sip with obvious relish. “The goblins might be good for something after all.” 

“What makes it so rare?”

Jareth sips and looks contemplative. “It’s unusual for the people of Shambhala to ask for anything, so trading opportunities are few and far between.”

“Must be a nice place, then, if everyone’s so happy.”

“Perhaps. But much like Shangri-La or El Dorado, it has its issues.”

Sarah gapes, unbelieving. “You’ve been to Shangri-La and El Dorado.”

“But all of them outshine Utopia. Highly overrated, that country.”

Sarah stares.

Jareth takes another sip and winks, causing Sarah to burst out laughing.

“Why don’t you come down here?” she asks.

“In due time,” he responds. “Finish your drink.”

He has no need to tell her twice. It’s too hot to gulp, but she wouldn’t, even if she could. She holds each sip in her mouth, relishing the sweet, milky spiciness and the warmth that spreads through her with every swallow. She’s almost disappointed when she reaches the bottom of her cup, and she swirls the dregs out of habit, searching for signs or omens.

“Do you see anything?” he asks.

“Nothing, as usual. The future remains a mystery,” she says, feigning disappointment.

Jareth takes Sarah’s mug and sets it back on the tray with his own.

“Lay back,” he says.

She feels a frisson of excitement as she obeys, rearranging her pillows and laying down so she can stretch out within the nest he’s created. 

“Now, close your eyes.”

She does, and she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face as she eagerly anticipates his touch.

It doesn’t come.

She’s about to open her eyes, wondering where he might be, when she hears the first bell. 

Well, almost a bell. 

Actually, she’s not quite sure what it is. 

The sound is clear and crystalline, but mellow. It reverberates for several seconds before fading away. Then she hears it again, accompanied by a slightly higher tone. And then there are more, chiming in perfect harmony, creating a rich mosaic of sound. There’s no melody, but the emotions the sounds evoke nearly overwhelm her: joy, sorrow, and comfort all at once. 

“Now, open.” His voice is a whisper, as if he doesn’t want to disturb the music.

She can’t help the gasp that escapes her when she opens her eyes. Dozens of crystal baubles slowly dance above her, sparkling with the light from the fire and garlands. They gently collide, ringing and creating the music around her. 

And then she looks deeper and realizes there is something inside each one. Images of her, all, but each one unique. Some as a teenager, wearing an enormous meringue of a dress. Then slightly older, sledding down a distant hill with a four-year-old child on her lap. Yet another, this time of her as a woman, giving bedroom eyes over her shoulder as she slides the strap of her nightgown down her arm. 

Memories. Jareth’s memories. Of her.

She stares, fascinated, seeing herself the way he sees her, each crystal creating a unique sound that matches the emotion of the memory. Some make her laugh, and others make her blush. 

She sees herself, still so young, advancing toward him, her face determined. Then, her memory-self flounders, grasping for words. She sees herself remember and then say the words that take her away from him and back to her own world with her baby brother. She hears the complex tone the crystal makes when it collides with others. Bittersweet. She’s surprised that it doesn’t sound more hollow, more lonely. 

She looks at him, a question in her eyes. He glances upward and sees which one she’d been looking at. 

“You weren’t angry?” she asks.

“I couldn’t keep you,” he says. 

“No,” she agrees.

“Too old to turn, too young to keep,” he says with a ghost of the predatory smile she’d seen when she first met him. “You won, and your victory allowed this,” he gestures to the baubles in the air. “Allowed a true love to grow. I could never resent that. This is your song. The song of my love for you.”

She looks back toward the ceiling, watching the baubles and recognizing most of what she sees: Their first meeting several years after her victory. Each stage of their slow and cautious courtship. She grins when she sees their first kiss, and blushes when she sees the first time they made love. The sound of the memory of their first argument is dissonant, but immediately resolves when it is followed by their first make-up sex. Memories of conversations that lasted deep into the night. Memories of flippant comments about nothing in particular. Gestures. Looks. The arch of an eyebrow, and the curve of her hip. 

And then she sees a very recent memory. She sees herself sitting on her couch while he massages her shoulders, and she tells him that she’s not ready for her family to see her with him. It gives a low, hollow sound as it collides with happier memories. She can feel the pain of the memory as it rings. She pretends not to have noticed it and doesn’t look at him for a reaction. Surely he hadn’t meant to include it. But she knows intuitively that he had. He hadn’t hidden anything. It’s all there, every joy, every sadness, every laugh, every hurt. The song of his love for her. All the good and all the bad. Shameless and sincere.

She sits up, moving to where he perches on the edge of the nest, watching her. His face is open and expectant. She doesn’t know what to say, so she kisses him, taking a handful of his shirt and tugging him toward her until he joins her in the cushions and blankets. He braces himself above her, his knee between hers and his hands on either side of her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she says, finally. “I needed this.”

He smiles, and kisses her again, more urgently this time. She knows where they’re heading and stops him, pushing him ever so slightly away so she can look him in the eye.

“I want you to come with me tomorrow.”

His only response is a slight narrowing of the eyes, though she can’t tell if he’s being cautious, suspicious, or a combination of both. 

“Please,” she adds. “I want you to spend Christmas with me and my family.”

“Why?”

She laughs awkwardly, not expecting the question. “Because I love you.” She blushes as she says it, unused to the words.

“Are you ready for them to meet me? Truly ready?”

She looks up past him to the baubles floating above. She sees herself joking with him in the Labyrinth, teasing him in public, and being intimate with him in private. He treats her the same, regardless of where they are. 

“You are a king courting a commoner. Not just any commoner, either, but a human woman from Above. But you don’t treat me as less-than. You’re not ashamed of me-”

“You are the Champion,” he says. “You’ve earned my esteem, even if I were not courting you.”

“You’re not ashamed of me,” she repeats. “Why on earth, Above or Underground, should I ever be ashamed of you? Come with me. Please.”

“I can disguise myself,” he says. “Cast a glamour that would make me appear as-”

“Don’t you dare.”

“It may make it easier for your father to-”

“No. I want you to meet them as you. We can ease them into the whole King of the Goblins thing later if you want, but I want them to see you like I see you.”

He grins and then leans down to kiss along her jawline.

“Besides, they’d probably be suspicious if you _didn’t_ look like one of the New Romantics. They’ve always thought I was a little odd.”

“If you’re sure,” he says, nibbling at her ear.

“I’m sure,” she sighs, relaxing into him, and running her hands down his back and over the slight swell of his behind. She squeezes, pulling him against her. 

“One other thing,” she adds.

“Hmm?” he asks, suckling her neck and massaging a breast through her pajama top.

“Please stop changing my clothes. Don’t get me wrong, you do a good job with it and I always like what you choose, but it’s weird, and I’d prefer it if you asked first. Ok?”

“Do you mean like this: Sarah Williams, may I please strip you entirely nude right this moment?”

“Yes, perfect.”

He grins like a devil, and in an instant, she is naked underneath him. “Still so much to learn about the power of words,” he says.

She lifts his hand from her now-bare breast. “Here’s the thing about that,” she says. “I am perfectly capable of understanding your double-speak and employing my own.” She places one of his fingers in her mouth and sucks, circling the digit with her tongue. 

He groans and she grins.

“Now,” she says, “Where were we?”

 

“I’ve been thinking,” she says later, as they both lie sated in their nest of blankets. “You know - about Toby and our Christmas Eve traditions.”

He hums an acknowledgment as he circles his nose against her shoulder and then plants a small kiss on her arm.

“He’s growing up. Moving on. Maybe it’s time I moved on, too. Let it go and start some new traditions.”

“Such as…?” he prompts.

“Reliving tonight, actually. I think this would make a very good tradition.”

“Which part? Being led astray by wisps or having our food stolen by goblins?”

“Well, I was talking specifically about our sleigh ride, warm drinks, and… you know… the rest. Your subjects were really just icing on this particular cake.”

“You really do love them, don’t you?” he asks.

Sarah grins, unashamed. “Yeah. I do.”

“Do you think you might consider one day being their queen?”

Sarah gives him a sideways glance, gauging his seriousness. He’s still lightly stroking her thigh, but there is no hint of humor in his face. 

“Maybe,” she says. “One day. If I’m asked.”

“Then maybe one day you will be.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she responds, and then laughs.

“May I ask what you find so humorous?”

“Oh, it’s not funny, really.”

“No?”

“Huh uh. I was just thinking about all of those other fairy tale kings I’d have to break things off with if you ever did ask.” She shakes her head in mock regret. “Poor guys…”

“Why, you little…” His fingers slide up her thigh to her waist and she curls in on herself at the sensation, bursting out in laughter she can’t contain as he tickles her. And then he’s kissing her again and she’s kissing him back.

Outside, far above the Castle Beyond the Goblin City, a new star appears, brighter than all the rest, heralding the coming of a new monarch to the land. Only a few particularly observant denizens of the Goblin Kingdom notice, but they are not surprised. They need no signs, omens, or prophecies to see what has been written so plainly on the face of their king for so long. Or on the face of their future queen, for that matter. And so they turn back to their tasks and let the silent stars go by.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story. Labyrinth is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.
> 
> The line, "the silent stars go by" is from the hymn "O Little Town of Bethlehem."
> 
> Inspired by the Labyrinth Fan Fic Lovers group's December challenge.


End file.
